


A Truly Contrite Slave

by Pinwheel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bondage, Chastity Device, Collars, Domestic Kink, F/F, High Heels, Humiliation, Magic, Master/Slave, Orgasm Denial, Post-Hogwarts, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-30 15:28:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6430090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pinwheel/pseuds/Pinwheel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ginny keeps being set tasks by her mistress and failing them. It's hardly Fleur's fault if the tasks are impossible. Slaves should complete orders and bad slaves are punished...</p><p>With more impossible tasks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Truly Contrite Slave

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Harry Potter, this is a purely non-profit fanfiction. 
> 
> Written for the 2015 Annual Femslash meme Prompt "Harry Potter: Fleur/Ginny, magical bondage, slave!Ginny" but also the "Harry Potter: Fleur/Ginny, humiliation" one. Do you best to imagine the accents. This also breaks my four year dry spell of uncompleted stuff so yay me.
> 
> Everyone in the fic is 18 and over and all sex acts in this fic are 100% consensual

The Delacour family home was ancient and vast. It had been the court of one of the few mage families ever to claim a royal title and the scope of the structure matched their pretensions. The kitchens could feed an army, the wine cellar could provide enough booze to get them all smashed and the bedrooms could give them all a place to sleep it off. The bathhouse was an approximation of a lake. The library contained tomes unknown even in Hogwarts. And the great hall suited its name, with a fireplace to match. It was a large structure of ancient stone, red brick and iron and caked in the soot of a dozen fires, results of a blaze that heated the entire room even in the dead of winter. 

For wizard (Or witch) cleaning the hearth would have taken but a handful of flicks of their wand. Ginny was definitely a witch and definitely capable of such a simple act of magic. It wasn't even as if she lacked a wand exactly. She knew it was and could go get it anytime... only she really couldn't go get it. It'd be like welching on a bet and that is something a Weasley would never do, despite frequently and indeed sometimes legendary embarrassment. Indeed, it had resulted in the only ever Weasley to get on a Chocolate Frog Card...

Anyway

This was why Ginny was on her hands and knees, scrubbing with cold water and soap and a brush of all things like a muggle. Actually she suspected a muggle would be better equipped, or at least have help. They'd have electronic devices and machines and a team of people all working their own roles. Ginny meanwhile had herself and her, lets face it, somewhat underused muscles. A muggle peasant then. A medieval one labouring away in fear of their lord so really it was a very appropriate comparison. Just getting rid of the build up of ash had taken two hours of trips back and forth to the mansions compost heap, including the time she had to lighten one of her buckets after making it too heavy to carry. The numerous trips had left a trail of ash from the fireplace to the door and a somewhat less noticeable trail of garden dirt on the return inside. It was warm today thank goodness but it had rained yesterday so the ground was still soft enough to be a little muddy. Only a little, but still tough to cross when carrying a heavy load and wearing high heels.

Oh yeah, her outfit. She'd have said Fleur didn't have its appropriateness as cleaning attire in mind when picking it out except Fleur probably had all of this exactly in mind when picking outfit.

First of all there were the aforementioned shoes. They were black, with sharp tall heels and straps that went to her ankles, where they were locked firmly onto her body. Right now the shiny, highly polished leather was marred with ash, soot, mud and the slurry that had been formed by the mixing of these with the water and soap she was using. Her second item of accoutrement was a white silk shift. Form fitting, beautiful and costly it was as impractical for the task at hand as it was exquisite. She had tried damn hard to keep it clean and had mostly been successful when disposing of the ashes but after the first hour of scrubbing soot she had given it up as a hopeless task. The garment was now half soaked and stained with black patches and smears.

The third and fourth items of clothing weren't exactly conventional ones and certainly never featured on any Hogwarts uniform list. There was the collar, also made of black leather, also padlocked in place. Ginny struggled to recall when she had last not worn it. It was enchanted to stay comfortable so her skin wasn't chafed despite long use, but the symbol and feeling of her submission was still constantly noticeable. A small silver tag with the Delacour family crest hung from the front as well as the obligatory D-ring, suitable for ropes and leashes. The last item was, humiliatingly, a chastity belt. Made of steel and rubber and layered with enchantment it was as foolproof as it was mortifyingly frustrating. Even thinking of it now made Ginny flush a little red as she remembered Fleur's parting words on this and many other days.

“A dirty little girl such as yourself will need to be kept in the charge of Mademoiselle Chastity while I am away, noi?”

Ginny warmed at little at the memory of those parting words and the soft kiss pressed to her cheek. But after moving those ashes, already aching from her labours, her real work had begun. The hearth was large, the soot thick and black. The filth was so intense that any water was rapidly tainted to the point using it was to merely rearrange the dirt. Everything needed to be taken to the drain outside necessitating carrying more heavy buckets and causing more spills. Fresh water needed to be pumped up, carried back inside and was quickly filthy again. She was also incredibly concious of how the cool water had splashed on her chest, hardening her nipples in the cold and causing them to bleed through the clinging silk. Thank the heavens it was a warm day, otherwise the trips outside could have gotten more than a little grim.

This was punishment. On Sunday Ginny had spilled a glass of wine when serving dinner. In truth, bound and constricted (And drunk on grape and sex) as she was was surprised it was only one. Normally this would result in a light punishment: To be spanked a dozen times and made to sleep at the end of the bed. But Fleur had over dinner guests with slaves of their own and so her beautiful fury had been manifold: Ginny had slept in the stables every night since and her arse was still red two days later. After that the punishments had piled up, like the bad excuses she'd given back at Hogwarts about where he homework was. Monday she failed to pluck every weed in the four acre garden. Despite taking the whole of Wednesday the wine cellar was still one third uncatalogued. After Friday Fleur's three hundred outfits lay unsorted on the floor of her second wardrobe chamber (Never mind that until that morning they had been safely hung, neat in their proper places). In each case Ginny had been deliberately hampered. It wasn't just the lack of magic, the absence of a wand with which these would have been barely a break. The binding of her hands had forced her to pick weeds with her feet. She'd had to write the details of the wine by holding the pen in her mouth. For the clothing Fleur had actually enchanted her clothes to make each one as heavy as if the pockets were filled with lead. Ginny was kept in chastity when not watched and hadn't come even close to relieving the growing, pathetic need inside her. Fleur had made it quite clear she needed to complete an act of contrition and then gave her impossible, frustrating, demeaning and maddening tasks.

These were the tasks of a slave. Slaves didn't have wands and so Ginny's sat upon the desk in Fleur's study. Ginny could retrieve it any time she wished... but then the game would end.

The work on the fireplace continued for hour after hour. Scrub, sweep, mop, slash. Take buckets out, bring buckets in. Her hands got red from scrubbing. Her knees ached from resting on the floor. Her shift was soaked and her ridiculous shoes made any movement a chore. Her collar and chastity belt pressed against her and reminded her of her condition, a state of unsatisfied arousal now a full week long. She worked long and hard at a task she could have solved in seconds with a wand. She lost all sense of time and of self, devoting everything to the task. She worked as hard as a House Elf and then wondered what Hermione would have thought of any of this. Part of her brain thoughts about her. Part of it focused on scrubbing. Most of it thought of nothing, lost in an empty sea of mindless focus and obedience. At some point a grin of weary determination crossing Ginny's face; unless her mistress returned early she would surely finish this task in time.

As if on cue she heard the noise of two horses clattering into the yard outside. Hopefully that noise was sufficient to cover Ginny's loud and explicit cursing. Kicking herself for her naivety (As well as some genuine shame at failing her impossible task) she grabbed the bundles of cloth, ran to the door in her clattering heels and with as much speed as she was able mopped up all the dropped water from there to the fireplace itself. She may not have finished but she'd be damned if she could appear as if she had merely spread the mess to other rooms. Tossing the bundle down she look back and forth, considering if it would be better to be waiting in a submissive pose or to still be hard at work.

The latter.

She was therefore on her hands and knees, shift riding up about her waist, ass in the air, scrubbing with muscle aching ferocity when she heard an appreciative voice say

“My my my, what a lovely sight to come home to”.

Ginny yelped and popped up, almost tumbling as she tried to get her feet while also pulling down the shift. Gabrielle was the same age her sister had been when she had been the ill fated Tri-Wizard champion for Beauxbatons and the similarity of their looks were striking. If she has taken a time-turning back to her third year she doubted she could have told the two sister apart. At least until they spoke away: Gabrielle had a much finer grasp of English accents and pronunciation than her elder sister. She also looked similarly fine in tight riding gear with her hair tight up tight and high in a ponytail. The women of the family were all willowy slender beauties and close fitting clothes suited them very well.

“Miss Gabrielle, welcome home, did you have a pleasant ride?” this came out more jerkily than Ginny had hoped it would. Part of it was that she didn't really seem to have the natural aptitudes of a fine lady's maid with a tendency to fumble fine words and phrasing. Hence the need to set her to, as Fleur said “Ze tasks of a scullery wench”. But the other reason was...

“Pleasant enough. You seems to be in be in a little distress my Dear Ginevra, is there anything I can do to... help?” The rolling sensuality of the voice and smile of that degree of wickedness (A smile like that could become a Death Eater) was strong enough. When delivered by an attractive young girl, simmering with the natural attractions and lusts of her Veela blood, and when delivered to a half dressed Ginny who ached with need and shame it carried a double sided page of sexual-subtext. The fact that Fleur had not granted her sexual release in over a week no doubt accelerated the fire, a blast of pure sexual oxygen rushing through her. Afterwards she didn't really remember what she said, only that Gabreille laughed.

“My dear thing. Shall I take you to the baths? You are so filthy and I smell of 'orses. We can go and there and scrub each other-”

She never found out what the girl wanted to scrub because the sentence was cut off by a loud smacking sound and a yelp. Gabrielle grabbed her bottom and glared up at her elder sister, who had glided up behind her with the silence of the dead, idly flicking her riding crop. Her glare was nothing however to the arch amusement on her sisters face and it was Fleur who got the first word in.

“Gabrielle moi dear, you are too young to make such an offer and too inexperienced to fulfil your promise besides.”

Fuck, that voice. To Ginny it was like having honey poured in her ear if the bees had been having a booze fuelled orgy throughout the pollinating season. She wondered if her knees were actually wobbling or if that was just her imagination. Gabrielle tried to argue the point but her voice had taken on an unattractive wheedling tone, her accent flowing out more strongly.

“I am of age to take lovers and I have had many 'off zem!”

“Of age to consent my dear, not of age to own a slave,” at this Fleur finally looked at Ginevra who shuddered at the look, “You still have two more turning of zeh moon until zat time.”

“A formality,” said Gabrielle but moodily, her lower lip actually pouting out now.

“A requirement. Moreover,” and at this her hand flashed out and grabbed her younger sister by the hair, yanking her head back as her voice turned harsher, “When you are old enough to carry zee crop and collar you may keep all the slaves you wish in ze 'ouse. Those will be yours and your right. But zis one is mine. She gave her consent and 'er wand and 'er life to me, not to you. You will not violate it, understood?”

Gabrielle gave a nod, her eyes wide. Fleur paused a moment and then released her.

“Good. Now go to ze baths. You stink of 'orses.”

Gabrielle scurried away and Fleur watch her head out of sight before turning back to Ginny, who swallowed hard. Compared to the little sister the woman before her was the bonfire to a candle. She wore her fine riding clothes like a knight and held herself like a queen. Her gaze smouldered with equal part disapproval and a lust that was near palpable. If there was a smell of horses then it was drowned out utterly by the scent of sweet sex that was as much a part of Fleur as the sunlight caught forever in her hair or the full mouth that filled her words with royal command or the entreaties of a succubus. Like a moth to a flame Ginny was drawn to it, falling to her knees and pressed a kiss to the top of Fleur's surprisingly immaculate riding boot.

“Mistress,” said Ginny with a breathless intensity that shocked even her, like they had been parted for day instead of mere hours. Her brain was locked up: Fluer's beauty, Fleur's dominance, Fleur's mastering of her sister, the lust she awakened in Ginny and the shame she felt at failing her impossible task. There was no cynicism or sardonic eye-rolling in her now. She was filled with so much of Fleur she couldn't think and instinct and training had taken over.

“Stand and account for yourself.”

Ginny shivered as she stood, the cold tone washing through her. Her mistress was very displeased with her and as usual her own body resonated with the desires of her that moved it.

“Mistress, I- I tried my best. The fireplace is very large and very filthy. I had to carry buckets in and out. I had to scrub it all by hand and I had to do it all while wearing these shoes-” she slammed her mouth down over these words, implying as they did a criticism of her mistresses choices but it was too late. Ginny could see the cold fire flare up in her eyes.

“It iz not my fault if you a poor worker, nor if you 'ave a ze gait of a clumsy ox. I set you a task and you have worse than failed. Not only is ze fireplace filthy, so is ze 'all and so are you, speculo”

With the last word Fleur flicked her wand and a mirror appeared, floating in front of Ginny who gasped at her own appearance. She was right: Her shift was soaked, the filthy water colouring it grey except for the bits that were black of course. There were smears on her face and arms too. Her knees were caked in dirt and glowing red. Her hair was lank and filthy. She looked away in shame and after a moment the mirror was gone.

“You 'ave ruin an expensive garment, a gift I got for you to make you look oh-so-fine.”

“I- I- I-,” Ginny stammered, “I can fix it mistress. Just let me get some warm water and soap and I can-”.

“Noi,” interrupted Fleur, “You 'ave ruined it with you thoughtlessness, Diffindo.”

The last followed with another casual wave of the wand and Ginny cried out as her shift burst apart. Every thread seemed to unwind from every other thread until she stood in a ring of dust. She was left naked and bare in front of her mistress and however stupid it was, however revealed she has been before, however often Fleur has seen and touched and claimed every naked part of her she felt ashamed and raised her hands to cover herself. Attempting to cover yourself was on the first page of the book of things slaves shall not do. This time her mistress really was angry and she brought down the riding crop held in her other hand, smacking Ginny with an overhand blow.

“You were not given permission to cover yourself slave. Have you learned nothing? Or is zis merely wilful disobedience and disrespect?”

Ginny tried to sob out an answer, real tears in her eyes. The anger, the guilt, the shame, the lust all poured in and out of her like crashing waves. She tried to say something, to bleat out an apology, anything, but apparently her mistress had little time for such matters today.

“Bassiare,” she hissed and Ginny was grabbed by powerful forces. She was pressed down to her knees. Invisible arms grabbed her own and forced them to cross behind her back. Her head was tilted upward to look her mistress in the eye and her words were cut off as a thick, invisible object was forced into her mouth, parting her jaws. The abasement spell forced its target to drop into a pose of submission and then froze them there. The only thing Ginny could move were her eyelids and she tried to blink away her tears. Already she could feel drool beginning to form in her open mouth and soon it would begin to trickle down her body.

“Ah am very disappointed with you Ginny. I give you simple tasks and you fail. I tell you to clear up and you make a bigger mess. You ruin the fine garments I bought for you. When I asked for an explanation you blubber and blame moi. You 'ave been a very bad girl. Perhaps I no longer need a slave if zis is ze trouble it will cause me.”

A gap of utterly silence yawned, several thousand years long. Ginny's heart didn't beat once during it.

“But perhaps I could be convinced of your apology with an... act of contrition.” Ginny looked into Fleur's eyes and saw two burning blue rings of lust. The wand was given such an imperceptible twist and Ginny felt her neck come free. She nodded frantically, the motion causing the drool to roll from her open mouth as the sparkling diamonds of her small tears dripped from her chin. Fleur gave the smile of a born winner, someone who knows before the challenge has even arrived they will overcome it, master it and mount it on their wall. She slipped her hands into the top of her tight riding trousers and slipped them to her knees with the grace of undressing only Veela possess. She was wet, the curls of dark blonde hair damp and divine. Ginny thought maybe she was always wet, always lusty and felt less than equal to the task. How could a feeble slave such as her be enough for a goddess?

This train of thought ended as the binding came loose and Ginny was free to move. Her hands came up, grabbing firmly on her mistresses hips and onto the flesh of her behind and she began to kiss and lick and bite. First on the thighs and above the groin, never rushing forward too fast. The best work took time and she went into it with the instinct of long practice and harsh training. Fleur had given her bottom a hundred welts in the process of training her to be able to please her perfectly. She didn't try to speak, knowing that right now even one word would have her be punished for a second week. She just kissed and licked and bit and moaned her own desire, a verbalised hunger vibrated straight into flesh. And even amidst their love-play she truly wished to apologise for her failure as best as she was able.

As Ginny's mouth descended on the mistress's little jewel of pleasure and petalled core of wetness fingers snaked into her hair, tight and hard. She couldn't move away without ripping it out at the root but that suited her just fine. Every swallow reminded her of the tight collar about her neck and ever pulse of Fleur's inner muscles against her tongue seemed in time in with one of her own. If she wasn't trapped in her chastity belt Ginny's fingers would be pleasuring herself in time with her tongue but instead she just gripped down harder on the soft flesh. The juices ran from her mouth and down her chin with the helpless drool and Fleur's delicate blond curls were equally soaked. Fuck, was any other girl, woman or Veela this wet? 

Ginny could have licked until her tongue fell off. All her senses were filled with the smell and the taste and the texture of this woman who was her lover and owner and personal saviour. Fleur's muscles rippled and contacted, her voice gave little cries and moans and gasps, her breasts strained and heaved and in all of this Ginny's body mimicked perfectly, her lust and need rising with the intense pleasure she was offering up until she felt like she would die if unsated. Her mistress's orgasm was like music, a strong, loud clear note that rang and made Ginny feel like a grunting pig. Her licking only slowed and stopped as the cry did and it was only then she realised with horror that she had marked the riding trousers with dark black soot. She dreaded the response and another week of denial, her insides a storm of pure sexual need. 

She was also therefore shocked when Fleur quickly re-donned her pants then reached down, removed the chastity device in one quick movement and then picked up her surprised and squeaking pet in a bridal carry. 

“You look beautiful dirty my dear, I actually quite like eet,” she said, smiling at Ginny up close with the love and warmth of the sun, “Do you wish to get your wand?”

A head shook, damp red hair flying. Two girls smiled.

“Zen let us go wash, we are both filthy.”

They kissed.

**Author's Note:**

> Positive feedback welcome, please comment!


End file.
